Like the last supper, I offer it to Judas Iscariot
who smiles in the midst of everyone

I am the texture of each word your eyes grab in this poem,
Lynching on the branch of broken promises,
My body is the structure of this poem,
This poem is the shape of my body
Sometimes I forget to feel until the wind encompasses

This is my body
It holds
footage of love that passed by to its destination in opened car
The pen that needs fire before inking
Sometimes I am the finger behind the trigger that smashes the object in my chest

I find myself counting God's art on earth like grains of sand on seashore

on the other hand,
I break knees with empty hands
and say "Hallowed be thy name"
Repeating "Give us our daily bread" endlessly to maintain breaths for tomorrow


This is me
Sometimes I smile without breathing
And breathe for days without noticing
At the bottom of my suitcase, I hide the truth from myself
to let the wind moves through my lungs

This is my body--built with gallantry,
The hairs on my skin are the tails of pains I've swallowed
This is my body just like my country and us
Every moment I deceive my heart
as it seeks justice like the unheard voices of innocent souls

I'm afraid to draw my heart into words
Because it will swallow each word
For its surface holds scars that are fighting to heal

And my body is turning into island
somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic ocean